A happy gurgle bubbles up to him, shooting waves of bliss through the muscles of his pelvis and groin, plumping his buttocks and wetting his nethers- he doesn’t dare attempt to shutter all his nerve impulses at this point- only the ones that still serve him will do. Like the ones he’s using to plot willful destruction of the naughty bit of natto blooming in his gut.
Even so, he’s nearly at his limit, underneath this alien control. His body is shivering; if the thing inside him doesn’t acknowledge his acquiesce soon, he might black out. Or it might make him.
“Stew it is, then,” he breathes softly, having regained enough strength to be snide out loud as he rubs his stomach, caressing the little hard lump bulging under his fingers that wasn’t there before. Did it move just now? Oh goddess, how revolting.
Hainish, his little pet idiot, will have to wait a while longer.
Too bad, he thinks, rubbing the unwanted bump as he sways slack-footed and weak-ankled out the door, clinging to the wall as he thinks on where to place his feet next to distract himself from the fact that the ugly roots squirming through the walls of his womb, strengthening themselves, feasting on his borrowed body.
He’s being sucked away, down a straw.
It’s what he gets, he supposes, for that stunt with the Ponds, by the Lake.